White Ute Dreaming Read Online Free

wall. Sometimes. And I pay out on her at every opportunity but Den had no right. What had she ever done to him? I looked at him and a cloud settled over my head. He was puffing on the last of a PJ 12, holding it with his thumb and first two fingers and taking little drags so he didn’t burn the shit out of his mouth. I thought he was a wuss. From where I stood he looked like someone I’d never met before. The shape of his hair was different or something.
    â€˜Dad and I went to the library last night,’ he said.
    Yeah. Big deal.
    â€˜We went surfing on the Net. It’s free and Dad wanted to check out the real estate around Fishwood. Mate, there were some cool houses. Dad said it was pretty cheap.’
    Good. Go.
    I was glad when Dad got home that night. Ernie rode home in the back of the ute. Had a crazy windblown grin on his face. Kez went home in the bus so I had Ernie to myself for an hour or so before Mum got home. Dad told me he’d been perfect and that he’d take him again tomorrow if that was okay. Yeah. Whatever. I tried to roughand tumble with him after Dad left but I couldn’t really be bothered and he nipped at the side of my hand and made it bleed. I felt like bashing the shit out of him but I couldn’t catch him. It turned into another game and I gave up after I’d let off some steam.
    I stuck my head inside the mower shed. It smelt like cat piss and rotten grass clippings. I realised I hadn’t been inside for ages—since I’d given up smoking at the end of last year. I thought I could go a smoke, even if God did strike me down for starting up again. I stepped inside and felt above the door. My lighter was still there and a tin cigar box that I remembered as soon as I felt it. My dope stash. I popped the lid and it took me on a journey. There was a bit of head mixed with tobacco and a packet of rollie papers still in good nick. I got the weed at Hendo’s sixteenth in March last year. We had a sleepover and he had a huge stash in his bungalow. I borrowed some when everyone was asleep. Hid it in the mower shed the next day and promptly forgot it was there.
    I rolled myself a joint. It was bloody awkward with one hand and it ended up looking like a little trumpet. I closed the door of the shed—well, scraped it across the concrete until it covered most of the entry—and lit up. Harsh on my throat but heaven on my head. Ernie was scratching at the door. I told him to piss off and the door scraped open. Mum was standing there. Caught green-handed. Fire alarms went off in my head. Emergency.
    â€˜What the bloody hell are you up to?’
    I shrugged. ‘Just having a smoke.’
    â€˜Doesn’t smell like “just having a smoke”.’
    I shrugged again.
    â€˜Give it to me. Where the hell did you get that?’
    I shrugged. ‘From a mate.’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜I dunno. It was ages ago.’
    â€˜Bullshit, Wayne,’ she shouted. ‘Who did you get it from?’
    â€˜Hendo . . . I think. Last year.’
    â€˜Get to your bloody room. You’re grounded for a month.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Get to your room,’ she shouted.
    Ernie followed me inside and cowered as I slammed every door. I flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I would have been angry but my head was too fuzzy. I scratched Ernie and he rolled onto his back beside me. Sometimes I can’t stand her. Sometimes I can’t stand her guts.
    She called me out for dinner. We sat on the couch, chewing our chops and potato and peas in silence. The telly was prattling on but you could have cut the air with a knife. Well, maybe an axe. Looked like Derrick was going to win the lot on Sale of the Century . It was his fifth night and his score was one hundred and twenty-five and the next closest contestant was on thirty. What a whipping. Terri, the chick that does the business on the show—the one with the cleavage—said that if he